


running just to keep my hands on you

by nevermordor



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Humor, M/M, Smut, Spit Kink, Switching, aka zoro accidentally catches feels and kicks his own ass, how is fuckbuddies to lovers not an already existing tag, seems fake ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermordor/pseuds/nevermordor
Summary: The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated.1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says“Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff," Luffy says. "That’s gonna take too long.”“It makes sex more fun," Zoro explains. "You gotta win it, you gotta earn it. Like anything good in life. Like pirate king or greatest swordsman.”Luffy considers this.





	running just to keep my hands on you

The first mate of the Rover pirates is an ugly son of a bitch with five missing teeth — soon to be six, Zoro thinks, as Luffy’s fist collides with the guy’s jaw in a vicious right hook. There’s a squawk as the first mate trips over his own feet, an overturned chair, and finally goes sprawling across the floor. “Twenty-one!” Luffy announces to the remaining crowd who didn’t immediately flee the tavern when the fight broke out, which is just him, Zoro, their crew, what’s left of the Rover pirates and one extremely distraught barmaid.

From the large corner booth, Nami makes a surprised noise into her mimosa. “Since when can Luffy count higher than ten?”

“He can’t,” Zoro retorts.

The last two Rover pirates go flying, hitting the opposite wall with dull, twin thuds. “That’s twenty-three!” Luffy crows, reaching across the room to high five Usopp and Chopper.

“Not a chance.” Zoro does the numbers slowly in his head to make absolutely sure, and also because Nami tends to give him shit for counting on his fingers. “You got…eighteen. _Maybe._ ”

“There were only fifteen people in their entire crew, dipshits,” Sanji snaps, fishing out a large tip for the traumatized barmaid. “Anyway, Luffy took care of pretty much all of them. Way to contribute nothing and also ruin lunch, marimo.”

“Luffy started it.”

“Told ya so,” Luffy says, disgustingly pleased with himself and not listening at all. “I got twenty-three.”

Zoro does not roll his eyes, and he does _not_ whine under his breath on their trek back to Merry, no matter what Nami and Sanji say. He hauls up the anchor and Merry’s sails unfurl, carrying them out of the harbor on an idle, warm breeze. Nami’s pulled out deck chairs for her and Usopp. Chopper’s had two pitchers of Sanji’s lemonade all by himself and is starting to get wild-eyed and jittery from the sugar. Zoro settles himself into a warm patch of sunlight by the stern, swords tucked beside him, shirt balled up under his head in a makeshift pillow. Even with his eyes closed he senses Luffy’s sudden presence, right before fingers brush along his forehead, tracing the sweat-damp line of his hair.

“Hiya,” Luffy says. He’s dangling upside down from the mast, loose limbs flapping in the breeze. “I got twenty-three.”

“You think so?”

Luffy puffs his chest out a bit. He reminds Zoro vaguely of a preening gull. “I know so.”

“You don’t know shit,” Zoro says, fighting the impulse to grin. “You’re good but you ain’t that good.”

“How many did Zoro get?” Luffy asks innocently.

The shift between them is quick and quiet, because Luffy can move like that sometimes, where he’s suddenly a half-step ahead. Zoro doesn’t let himself be caught off guard. He lays very still as they size each other up. “Zoro,” Luffy says, prompting. It isn’t a command. Not exactly. There’s a slight edge to his voice, though, as subtle and sweet as a concealed blade.

“I didn’t get twenty-three,” Zoro admits, meeting the edge in Luffy’s voice with his own.

There’s a faint twist in Luffy’s usual grin, something almost smug. “Guess I win again,” he says.

Zoro’s mouth goes dry with anticipation. His hands twitch. “Guess so.”

The moment passes, as sudden and fleeting as a storm on the Grand Line. Luffy’s smile snaps back into big and goofy again. He pats Zoro on the head, making a face and a show of wiping sweat off on his shorts, and then he rockets back up the mast, to go play with Chopper or beg Sanji for pre-dinner snacks.

Zoro remains by the stern. He doesn’t sleep but he leans back, folds his arms behind his head. He closes his eyes against the sun. Heat lingers under his skin. It blooms through his chest like a straight shot of rum; prickles along the insides of his thighs.  
  
  
  
  
The thing they do is kind of like a game, because Luffy likes games, but it’s also kind of a competition because Zoro can’t not turn anything and everything into a competition. It doesn’t have a name and there are only two rules, because more than two would just be making things boring and overcomplicated.

  1. Whoever takes out the most guys in a fight is the winner
  2. Whoever is the loser has to do whatever the winner says



Luffy was quiet for a moment after Zoro finished explaining the rules. They were laying together on deck, the afternoon dimming into evening, trying to find shapes in the clouds. “Chicken drumstick,” Luffy said at length, pointing to a particularly lopsided cloud. “What do I get when I win?”

“If,” Zoro said. “If you win.”

Luffy snort-laughed at that and Zoro tried very hard to be irritated rather than endeared.

“ _If_ I win, what do I get?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want steak. But like, a really big steak, Zoro. Like—” he gestured emphatically with his arms “—like at least this big.” Luffy’s arms dropped back to his sides. Merry creaked, waves lapping at her sides. In the crow’s nest, Usopp sang softly to himself.

Zoro pointed at another cloud. “Turtle.”

“Nah. ‘S a pork chop.” Luffy wasn’t looking at the sky though. He’d  rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, staring at Zoro. “What d’you want if you win?”

“I got a couple ideas.”

“Like what?”

Zoro smirked. “Maybe I’ll make you suck my dick. For starters.”

“Oh. So it’s just a sex thing,” Luffy said, unimpressed. Zoro reflected, yet again, on how Luffy could be both the biggest badass he’d ever met and also the biggest dumbass, and how these things didn't quite make the ideal, occasional fuck buddy he’d been hoping for the first time he and Luffy had slept together.

“How come you can’t just _ask_ me to suck it or something,” Luffy was saying. “Why’s it gotta be a whole game and stuff, that’s gonna take too long.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“ _Zoro’s_ the dumb one.”

“It makes sex more fun. You gotta _earn_ it. Kinda like pirate king or greatest swordsman.”

Luffy considered this. “Zoro just wants to boss me around.”

“That too.”

Luffy snickered. “Fat chance.”

“You won’t be laughing no more once I win.”

“If.”

“When,” Zoro maintained.

Luffy’s eyes were already bright with challenge. “If.”  
  
  
  
  
Zoro just barely catches a moan behind his teeth. Everyone else is asleep and he doesn’t want to startle them, but Luffy’s teeth are in his shoulder and the heel of his hand grinding against Zoro’s crotch. There’s a moment of struggle and then Zoro’s pants are off and the deck is cold under his bare ass. He kicks his pants down around one ankle, spreads his legs to accommodate Luffy between them.

“I won,” Luffy mumbles.

“Yeah,” Zoro agrees.

“Say it, Zoro.” It’s part whine, part order, and it makes that sleepy, slow afternoon heat flare up in him again. Zoro shoves his face against Luffy’s. Their teeth click as he tries to angle his head just right, Luffy’s tongue pushing in his mouth.

“You won,” Zoro says.

Luffy gives a delighted little shiver. He pulls back, sticks his fingers in his mouth until they’re glistening with spit. Zoro wraps a leg around Luffy’s waist, plants his other foot against the deck, lifting his hips up. The first finger pushes into him, and it’s not nearly slick enough, and Zoro growls low in his throat and takes it anyway. His hips thrust down onto Luffy’s hand, taking a second finger.

“C’mon,” Zoro hisses. “C’mon, more, let me have it, Luff.”

“Zoro’s dripping,” Luffy says, giggling. His cock’s wet, beads of cum dribble down the head of his erection, leaking onto his stomach and the hem of his shirt. Zoro doesn’t even fucking care because then there’s a third finger working into him. Luffy pushes, and Zoro takes it knuckle-deep, toes curling inside his boots until it feels like he’s going to split open. Luffy kisses him in stupid places like his chin and his ear. Zoro half-laughs, half-moans. He licks his palm, grips himself, heels sliding as he thrusts his hips forward into his fist and backward onto Luffy’s hand, letting Luffy push him hard, pushing right back as best as he can.

He jerks himself off slow, edging himself until Luffy’s fingers lengthen, rubbing hard against that spot inside of him that makes the base of Zoro’s spine tingle, makes his whole body throb with need. “Luffy,” Zoro says, voice breaking and everything in him, from the pit of his stomach to the roots of his teeth, _aches._ Luffy does it again and again, working him until Zoro comes undone, comes all over his stomach.

There’s a filthy, slick sound when Luffy pulls his fingers out. Zoro can hear himself distantly, panting. His nipples are hard against the rough cotton of his shirt. It’s like when he works out too hard. The muscles in his thighs throb, his heart pounds. Sweat pools in the small of his back. It feels fucking _good._

“I wanna do it again,” Luffy orders. “I wanna see Zoro again.”

Zoro smirks, letting Luffy settle back between his legs. He’s already half-hard again. “‘S your night, captain,” he says.

In the morning, there are bruises along his shoulders from where Luffy bit him over and over again. His legs ache and he feels raw and used all over. He’s in such a good mood that he lets Luffy and Usopp have his extra bacon and only calls Sanji a twat twice over breakfast.  
  
  
  
  
In Zoro’s defense, the game wasn’t actually supposed to be a sex thing. Not entirely, anyway.

He’s not much of an ideas kind of guy but he’d thought maybe the game could eventually be something the whole crew could get in on. A little friendly competition might boost Usopp’s confidence, help Nami feel more comfortable in combat, prove once and for all that Zoro’s stronger than Sanji. Plus then winning would have all kinds of other advantages aside from blowjobs: He could make people buy him booze or force them to do his chores, and then maybe he’d be able to save some of his weekly allowance and he’d get bitched at less by Nami for not remembering to clean the bathroom every third Tuesday of the month.

That’s the eventual plan.

It’s just that he wants to win first. Just once.

It’s just that winning is proving a bit more difficult than he anticipated. Partly because Luffy’s a tough opponent to beat. Partly because a lot of the time the guys he’s fighting aren’t that good, but watching Luffy kick ass is always fun. Also maybe Zoro just likes watching Luffy’s ass in general a little too much.

Zoro’s never really been a plans kind of a guy either, truth be told.  
  
  
  
  
Luffy finds him an hour into his midnight watch. The night’s balmy. Zoro’s sweating and so is the lukewarm beer in his hand. He takes another slow slip, watching the sea, sleek as glass. It’s almost a quiet evening, the first that Zoro’s had in over a month — almost, until Luffy tackles him from behind and almost sends them both toppling over Merry’s side.

“Dumbass,” Zoro hisses.

“I won,” Luffy says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro mutters, sliding down onto the deck. Luffy follows, flinging himself into Zoro’s lap and kneeing him right in the stomach. Zoro tries to smack him and Luffy catches his arm and then they’re tumbling, Zoro cursing, Luffy giggling maniacally. His beer gets knocked over in all the squabbling, the bottle rolling overboard. Eventually, though, Luffy pins him flat. Zoro thrashes but can’t break free. He’s still getting used to someone being physically stronger than him, that can hold him down even when he struggles. He’s wondered, once or twice, why it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

“I _won,”_ Luffy says, unflappable.

“I heard you the first time. Also I know, I was there, stupid.”

“Cranky, cranky.” Luffy gets that little shit-eating grin on his face that promises absolutely nothing good. There’s a horrible gagging sound, and a long strand of spit descends from Luffy’s mouth until a thick bead of saliva dangles precarious inches above Zoro’s face.

“You’re so fucking disgusting,” Zoro informs him.

Luffy’s brow furrows in concentration as he slurps the saliva back up into his mouth. “Shanks taught me how.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen you do. Including that time you drank a whole bottle of barbeque sauce in one go.”

Luffy beams. “It was spicy.” He hacks up another wad of saliva just as Zoro tries to sit up and dislodge him. Luffy makes a noise of surprise and the string of spit breaks and flies off, hitting the deck with a small wet splat. His grip around Zoro’s wrists flexes, tightens. “Oh, gross,” Luffy says, snickering. “That almost got in your mouth.”

“You coulda done it,” Zoro says out loud, without fully meaning to.

Luffy frowns. “Done what?”

A prickle of anticipation races up along the curve of Zoro’s spine. Some part of him feels like maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. “Spit.”

Luffy’s frown melts away. He’s grinning again. “Nah. ‘Sides, Zoro wouldn’t let me. Even if I told you to, you wouldn’t.”

“It’s your night, captain,” Zoro says hoarsely.

Luffy blinks; falls silent. He stares at Zoro for a moment, like he’s reassessing something in his head — about Zoro or about himself, it’s unclear.

Zoro keeps his gaze locked with Luffy’s as he parts his lips and sticks his tongue out.

There’s another loud, thick hacking sound, and Luffy rears his head back and spits into his mouth. His aim is bad. Saliva hits Zoro’s cheek and tongue and he licks up the long ribbons of spit still clinging to his chin. The smell of it is musty and sweet.

Luffy’s eyes are very wide. For the first time, his grip on Zoro’s wrists loosens. “Zoro didn’t have to do that.”

Zoro knows, like he knows that even if Luffy wins the game a thousand more times, he’ll never think to push Zoro where he doesn’t want to go. It’s not who he is, as a person, as a captain. These are all things that maybe Zoro should say, but he doesn’t do so well with words a lot. Also his dick is rock hard so instead he pushes his hips up, grinding against Luffy’s ass. Luffy gives a little growl of enthusiasm and Zoro keeps thrusting against him, pinned by Luffy’s gaze, by the fingers digging bruises into his wrists, until he comes with a hard shudder in his pants.

Afterwards, Luffy drags Zoro’s pants down around his knees and tucks his head between Zoro’s legs. His hair is too long and tickles Zoro’s skin. He laps up sticky, half-dried cum, licks along Zoro’s balls and the creases of his thighs, a low, satisfied purr rumbling in the back of his throat.  
  
  
  
  
He loses.

On cold nights, curled up naked together in a sleeping bag that’s too small for them both, Luffy’s hands cold but his lips warm and dry on the back of Zoro’s neck, his cock hot and slick, rutting between the tight press of Zoro’s thighs.

On hot nights when Luffy should be sleeping, when Zoro should be keeping watch. When they strip down and dive over Merry’s side instead, treading water, splashing each other, until they wash onto shore. Until Luffy’s dizzy from soaking up the ocean and crawls on top of Zoro. He licks the drying sea salt off Zoro’s skin as the tide rolls in, the waves and his blood roaring in Zoro’s ears.

He loses on Saturdays when it’s curry night and Luffy keeps accidentally burping into his mouth and can’t stop laughing, and apologizing, and kissing him, and laughing again.

Alabasta is a tie. It’s bruises and cuts and stiff muscles. It’s Luffy gripping his hips while Zoro rides him, the clean hospital sheets becoming stained, their bandages coming loose. It’s the dull rasp of cotton afterwards when Zoro rubs his cheek along the gauze binding Luffy’s abdomen, and he breathes in the waxy, sweet smell of Chopper’s ointments and beneath that the tang of dried blood where Crocodile came so very, very close. Alabasta is bone-deep exhaustion. It’s the slow trickle of Luffy’s cum leaking down the backs of his thighs. It’s lying side by side together in the dark as the rhythm of his breathing slows to match Luffy’s.  
  
  
  
  
The kitchen has been quiet for almost ten minutes now, apart from the ominous, aggressive thud of Sanji’s knife against the cutting board. Zoro stares at the knotted, scarred surface of the table and not at Usopp, whose eyes are popping out of his head or at Robin, who’s arranged herself strategically behind a very large book. The only one oblivious to the tension is Luffy, preoccupied with eating his way through a bowl of garlic mashed potatoes.

“The good news is you don’t have a concussion,” Chopper says at last. He finishes dabbing ointment onto Zoro’s fresh black eye, courtesy of Sanji. “It could be worse.”

“I can’t see how,” Nami says. “Zoro’s dick was literally on the counter.”

Sanji violently beheads a carp, making Usopp jump. From behind her book, Robin’s ears have gone pink.

“Well, it could have been like when Luffy ate that whole vat of strawberry flavored lubricant,” Chopper says, “and I had to pump his stomach.”

“It tasted good,” Luffy protests, spraying mashed potatoes everywhere. “And anyway, strawberries are _fruit._ Sanji’s always saying to eat more fruit.”

“I just don’t understand why lubricant would be flavored,” Chopper muses. “Usopp has a lot of different oils for working on Merry. Are any of those flavored?”

“Don’t think so,” Usopp, the traitor, says. “But then, I don’t have much oil anymore. It keeps disappearing on me.”

There’s a deathly silence as this information sinks in, broken only by Luffy’s enthusiastic chewing.

“I hope,” Sanji says, with great dignity and fury, “that all that oil corrodes your asshole, marimo, and that you _die.”_

Robin’s ears are even pinker and her shoulders have begun to quiver. If Zoro’s lucky, Kitetsu will slip out of his sheathe, decapitate him and end this conversation immediately.  
  
  
  
  
Mock Town is almost a tie after the Bellamy pirates kick both their asses. Almost, until the morning after when Luffy stumbles back to Cricket’s house, grinning wildly, his knuckles wet with blood that isn’t his.

He loses in the forests of Skypiea. He watches Luffy from across the bonfire as he cracks bad jokes and shoves chopsticks up his nose, like he didn’t knock out Bellamy the Hyena with one damn punch, like he didn’t take down God with his bare hands only hours ago.

Zoro’s only lost twice before in his whole life. Kuina bested him. Mihawk broke him. Both times, he made himself get back up again. He learned to watch Kuina’s movements, looked for her tells. At the end of every fight he walked away stinging with fresh bruises but also a better understanding of how she made winning look so easy. He’s replayed the fight with Mihawk in his head dozens of times too. He’s memorized each second, retraced his steps, studied his own mistakes from every possible angle. Whether it takes thirty years and a hundred more fights, someday they’ll meet again and it will not be Zoro seeping blood and life into the sea.

Luffy is raw ferocity; his captain; the giggle in his ear late at night; a runt from the boonies of the East Blue. Zoro looks at him. He studies him in every way, at every angle, and comes up with the realization that Luffy is completely, hopelessly, impossible to defeat. For the only time in his life, Zoro contemplates his own surrender. It doesn’t come to him at all like he would have guessed. There is no blood, no pain, no rage. Surrender has pieces of roast chicken stuck in his teeth, and kind eyes.

He drinks until his face is numb, until the sky overhead is blue-black. The whole forest blazes with light and the party rages on without him as Zoro shoves himself off the log where he’s slumped and wanders into the trees to take a leak.

When he turns, ready to head back, Luffy is waiting for him. The firelight rims the edge of his ratty old hat in gold. In the dark, it looks almost like a shadow of a crown.

“Nami said you were gonna get lost,” Luffy explains as Zoro stumbles over to him. “I said maybe, ‘cause your brain got fried when you got electrocuted and everything.” It’s supposed to be a joke but it doesn’t sound like a joke, because Luffy’s voice is just a little too tight when he says it. “I said you’d probably be okay ‘cause you’re usually okay. And then Nami said it didn’t matter ‘cause you don’t got a brain anyway so then I said—”

Zoro kisses him.

He loses, kneeling in the dirt, wet earth seeping in through the worn cotton of his trousers. He takes Luffy in his mouth and it hurts a little bit because his bottom lip is split open, but Luffy’s hands are in his hair and he’s making these small, keening moans that Zoro likes so, so much. He loses, on his hands and knees, Luffy warm and strong at his back, his fingers dirty when he hooks them in the corner of Zoro’s mouth.  
  
  
  
  
The little winter island where they stop over for the evening is hosting a local fair. There are booths lining the main street selling trinkets and used books. The local tavern has a big, heated tent set up, filled with gallons of mulled wine and platters of spicy chicken kabobs. It’s nice and cozy and fun, right up until a bunch of wannabe scumbag pirates show up to try and raid the town. Their captain gets about halfway through issuing his demands and then Luffy, having finished his plate of kabobs, punches him in the gut.

It’s a quick, easy fight. Usopp scrambles up onto a roof to pick off any reinforcements. Chopper and Nami plant themselves back to back. Zoro slices men to ribbons with Yubashiri, the smell of blood on steel making him tingle all over.

Luffy skids past, slipping on a patch of thin, sheer ice and Zoro grabs him before he falls. Luffy’s panting and flushed. His hat’s slipped off his head and his hair is wet with snow. “I got ten. How many you got?”

“Ain’t telling.”

“I bet it’s not as many as me,” Luffy says, as he extends his leg and trips the guy trying to rush them. The guy yelps, face-planting into the ice. Luffy snickers. “Zoro can’t catch me.”

“When I do,” Zoro snaps.

They make quick work of the rest of the pirates. Zoro sheathes his swords and glances about for the rest of his crew. Sanji’s wiping blood off the tips of his shoes and Robin’s fixing her hair. “How many did you get this time?” Nami asks, thumping him on the shoulder with her staff.

Luffy’s collecting the pirates he defeated into a pile while Chopper looks on and applauds accordingly. Zoro’s not sure how many there are in the pile. It looks like a whole lot.

“Y’know,” he admits. “I wasn’t counting.”

Nami shoots him a faint, sly grin. “Guess you’re screwed again.”

“Guess so.”

He probably should care or something.  
  
  
  
  
He loses at Water 7.

They find a shabby little inn on one of the lower levels with a couple of spare rooms available. It takes them half an hour to haul all their stuff up the stairs because the elevator isn’t working. Nobody talks much.

Dinner is soup and stale crackers from the cafe in the lobby. Luffy doesn’t eat, and when Sanji clears away the dishes, he gets up from the couch and walks out onto the balcony. Zoro gives him a moment and then follows. He isn’t expecting Luffy to be waiting for him, or the hands that twist into the front of his shirt as Luffy pushes him up against the door and clumsily tries to kiss him.

“I won the fight,” Luffy says but his voice is all watery and miserable, like Luffy should never sound. “I get to do what I want.” He tries to kiss Zoro again and Zoro tries his best to kiss him back but Luffy’s shaking and there’s snot leaking onto his upper lip. Zoro untwists Luffy’s hands from his shirt and Luffy makes a sound like a stifled sob. “Don’t, Zoro,” he says and sounds so small. “Don’t—”

Zoro folds his arms around him. He doesn’t plan to do it. He doesn’t plan for lots of things when it comes to Luffy, even when he tries. He’s learning that not everything in life needs him to fight it so damn hard.

Luffy stiffens against him and then crumples. His breath comes shallow and shaky, his face buried in Zoro’s collarbone.

For a long time after Kuina, it felt safer to keep people at a distance. To make sure he stayed focused on what mattered. That was what he used to tell himself. Comfort is a new skill. He’s still learning how to wield it. His thumb traces the long, slender curve of Luffy’s neck and Zoro holds him. When Luffy finally pulls away, Zoro doesn’t stop him. “You won, captain,” Zoro says quietly. “What do you wanna do?”

Luffy sniffles. The evening’s gotten colder. The wind carries the bite of an oncoming storm. “Wanna climb.”

They scale the hotel’s trellis. Luffy leads the way, but with one hand always reaching back for Zoro. They sit together along the roof of the inn. Water 7 sprawls out below them, the fountain and canals murmuring, the ocean calling to them in the distance.

Luffy watches the sea. Zoro watches Luffy.  
  
  
  
  
“Thirty,” Luffy says with satisfaction, as he retracts the long whip of his arm. Several of the smugglers they’ve been fighting off collapse in the wake of Luffy’s attack, dizzy or already unconscious.

Zoro sheathes Kitetsu. He glances at his own meager nine. “Son of a bitch.”

“I been meaning to ask,” Franky says eagerly. “How do the rest of us get in on this dick measuring contest?” He cracks his knuckles, missing Sanji’s pained expression and Nami’s snort of laughter.

“I dunno what he’s even talking about,” Luffy says later that evening, after he and Zoro have retreated to observation tower. Luffy’s shorts pool around his ankles and he grips the base of his dick, yanking until it’s nearly a foot and a half in length. “Zoro’s obviously can’t stretch that far.” He releases his grip and his penis snaps back into place with a enthusiastic twang. “That ain’t a fair contest.”

Zoro can’t answer his captain because his stomach has seized up and he laughs until he thinks he’s going to vomit.  
  
  
  
  
What he should be counting: how many enemies he takes down each fight.

What he counts instead: the calluses on Luffy’s palms. The rare scars that speckle his shins and elbows. The freckles on the backs of Luffy’s shoulders. Each beri, as Luffy’s bounty climbs higher and higher. How many times Luffy laughs in his sleep--seven one week, eight the next.

He doesn’t count his own enemies but he counts Luffy’s, the hundreds upon hundreds of men that Luffy decimates with fists, with laughter, as vengeful and powerful as living myth. He counts the thrilled, tense seconds of silence just after a fight’s over, until Luffy’s gaze finds his. “When you gonna catch me, Zoro?” he always asks, with that same gleeful, shit-eating grin. “When?”

Zoro counts. And he loses. And keeps on losing.  
  
  
  
  
“I think you’re getting worse at this,” Nami informs him during one of their regularly scheduled arithmetic lessons. It was her idea, not his, because as she’s told him multiple times now, she’s become alarmed by his inability to do basic math. She’s grading his latest quiz with her special red ink--the stuff she reserves specifically for writing threatening letters to the WEJ offices whenever they raise their prices, and for demanding customer loyalty discounts from various department stores. There’s an awful lot of red ink on his quiz already. She’s not even halfway done.

“‘S possible,” Zoro admits. He’s watching Luffy and Usopp play on the lawn, running through the sprinkler Franky set up. Luffy’s swim trunks are low on his hips and he’s wearing the novelty sunglasses that Robin bought for him, the ones shaped like flamingos with party hats.

“You’ll never win at this rate,” Nami says.

“Also possible,” Zoro grunts.

Nami’s smiling at him, which is far worse than when she yells at him. The back of his neck feels hot and Zoro finishes his beer too fast. She leaves him be and goes back to grading. He gets 12 out of 48 answers correct, compared to the 15 he got last week. Nami’s right. He’s getting worse.  
  
  
  
  
They're ambushed in the middle of an afternoon picnic by a bunch of raiders trying to hijack the Sunny, who somehow, miraculously, haven’t heard about their reputations. Luffy is a flurry of fists and a laugh and a toss of his head. Zoro has loved few things more than Luffy in the heat of battle.

He stabs the guy trying to sneak up behind him through the foot; there’s a scream and Zoro turns, casually punching him in the face. He looks back in time to watch Luffy trample another two guys. They’ve made quick work of the raiders. Robin's carefully putting their plates and blanket and basket back together, while Sanji rescues what's left of the food.

“I think I got seven,” Zoro admits.

“It’s more like...eleven,” Usopp says.

“I won!” Luffy blurts out excitedly, his arms and legs coiling around Zoro. “I won!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro murmurs, tilting his face toward Luffy’s. Eyelashes tickle his cheek and Luffy pants in his ear, his breath sour and hot.

“No,” Nami says, picking her way over several unconscious bodies. “Zoro won.”

Zoro stares blankly at her. “That can’t be right."

“You wanna bet?” Nami asks, in a way that suggests that she very much _does_ want to bet him.

Usopp’s brow furrows as he runs the figures in his head again and then nods. “Yeah. Zoro got eleven and Luffy got ten.”

“Huh,” Zoro says. Luffy slides off of Zoro’s shoulders. They consider each other, Luffy looking as startled as Zoro feels. “Huh,” Zoro says again, for lack of anything better to say, and because both Usopp and Nami are watching him closely, eyebrows raised. “I’m gonna go nap,” Zoro says and trudges off across the lawn. He curls up along the far side of the cabin, drowsing in the heavy, warm sunlight; wakes to a cool evening and a shadow falling over him. Luffy’s standing there, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His brow is slightly furrowed, lips puckered slightly where he gnaws on the inside of his cheek.

“Captain,” Zoro says in acknowledgement.

“There’s dinner,” Luffy says. He doesn’t go hurtling for the kitchen but lingers as Zoro hauls himself onto his feet. At the table, their knees keep knocking into each other, Luffy’s leg bouncing up and down, rattling the both of them with nervous energy. He doesn’t try to steal Zoro’s food and doesn’t try to talk over anyone — doesn’t talk much at all.

“You’re being fucking weird,” Sanji remarks, deeply suspicious, as he flips another omelette.

After, Zoro takes his time. He helps Robin clear the table; playfully argues a bit with Franky over his shit taste in beer; tends carefully to Kitetsu and Wado, who must  be missing their brother. At a little after ten o’clock, Zoro finally leaves the kitchen and heads for the men’s quarters. He’s halfway across the lawn when he senses movement from above. He twists to one side, just barely avoiding Luffy’s grasp. There’s a squawk of surprise and Zoro catches him right before he smacks into the deck. He spins them; Luffy hits the cabin wall, pinned up against it by Zoro. He squirms and Zoro laughs, grips him just a little tighter.

“When,” Zoro says softly against his mouth, and Luffy trembles, his thighs opening, letting Zoro press between them.  
  
  
  
  
“Hold still,” he says later, and Luffy can’t, of course, because he never can. He squirms and tangles himself up in the sheets that Zoro smuggled up from the laundry and laid out across the floor of the observation tower. Luffy’s vest is half-undone and riding up to expose the planes of his stomach. The faint candlelight shivers, molten, as Zoro dips his head and kisses bare, warm skin. Luffy’s stomach quivers under his mouth.

“Zoro,” Luffy whines.

He tugs Luffy’s vest open all the way. Luffy’s chest and shoulders are corded with wiry muscle, his nipples flushed; his face is a little pink, eyes overly bright with curiosity. Zoro reaches over and grabs the bottle of whiskey he brought up with him. He pulls the cork out with his teeth, spits it aside. “Don’t spill,” Zoro murmurs and then pours a little into the dip of Luffy’s stomach.

Luffy spills it immediately, twitching in anticipation. Zoro has to duck his head quickly, licking up the trails of warm alcohol running along Luffy’s abs and down his sides. He can feel Luffy’s skin prickle with goosebumps and he pours more of the whiskey across Luffy’s chest, sipping it off him in messy mouthfuls. Zoro takes his time, strokes his tongue along his nipples, tasting the burn of the liquor in his mouth and underneath it, tasting Luffy: stale dried sweat and chlorine from the sprinkler.

Luffy’s eyes are huge and shiny. He moans when Zoro pulls away. “Wanna try some?” Zoro asks, gesturing with the bottle.

“I don't—”

“This stuff’s good. Sweet. You’ll like it, I promise.” He will. It’s whiskey with honey, sweeter than Zoro normally drinks because he’s thoughtful and shit like that. He drags his thumb along Luffy’s lips, coaxing them apart; takes a swig of the whiskey and then fits his mouth to Luffy’s, letting the booze rush out. Luffy whimpers, delighted, and Zoro feels the vibration of it all across his skull.

He turns Luffy over onto his stomach, careful like he never gets to be when they fuck. He pulls his Luffy’s vest off all the way; kisses him on the nape of his neck, between his shoulder blades, in all the place he used to think were stupid. He pours more whiskey into the small of Luffy’s back, earning a squeak of surprise. Zoro kisses down the curve of Luffy’s ass, along the insides of his knees, all the intimate places that he wants to memorize. Very carefully, Zoro drinks in every last part of him.

Luffy’s a shuddering mess when Zoro turns him onto his back again. He gets Luffy’s shorts off, throwing them aside. The whiskey goes spilling across the floor, Luffy with it, his arms and legs unspooling and pliant. Zoro hefts Luffy’s hips up into his lap. He undoes the front of his trousers and coats his fingers in oil--makes a mental note to pay Usopp back and hopes that it’ll keep his mouth shut in the future.

“Now, Zoro,” Luffy demands, restless.

Zoro works his fingers into him. Luffy’s hips jerk in little circles, taking him deeper. He looks so fucking good like this: eyes glazed and hair spread out in inky tufts, coming apart in Zoro’s hands.

“Captain,” Zoro murmurs. Luffy’s heels dig into his back, urging him on. He lines himself up, pushes inside. Luffy throws his head back, and Zoro sinks into him, fast and smooth, all the way to the hilt.

Luffy hiccups, little pleased gasps, his hips flexing. “More,” he says, and Zoro forgets that it’s his night, his orders, and obeys on instinct. He rides Luffy hard and slow, Luffy’s hands clawing at his shoulders. They’re kind of fucking, kind of wrestling, and Zoro’s laughing, and so is Luffy until Zoro’s hips slam forward and Luffy lets out another pleased wail.

“Zoro,” Luffy gasps. Zoro bites him on the shoulder, even though it won’t leave bruises, bites him because Luffy shudders, liking it, arching into it. “Zoro, I want—”

They’re pressed too tight together, slick with sweat and it takes Zoro a second of fumbling before he gets Luffy’s cock in his hand. He grips it and Luffy comes all over himself in two fast strokes. Zoro wipes the mess off on the discarded sheets, as Luffy’s legs twitch, wrapped around his waist. Then he plants his hands on either side of Luffy’s shoulders, fucks into him harder, sheathing himself completely when he comes inside of him.

They collapse together in a heap onto the mats, like they usually do after kicking a particularly difficult enemy’s ass. Zoro rolls them over onto their sides, Luffy clinging tight, as Zoro goes soft inside of him. Their foreheads bump together. Luffy’s sticky with drying whiskey and he licks his fingers, one by one, as Zoro traces the ridge of the scar on his cheek.

“When,” Zoro says.

Luffy blinks in surprise and then bursts into laughter. “You already said that.”

“I know, asshole. Let me have this.”

“Zoro’s so dumb,” Luffy murmurs.

Zoro loves him, probably.

They fall quiet again. Luffy taps his fingers in an absent rhythm against Zoro’s shoulder. “When I win next time,” he says, “maybe I’ll eat ham off ya. Only sometimes Zoro tastes bad, so maybe not.”

“I’m not letting you put ham on me,” Zoro lies. “And you mean if.”

Luffy’s answering grin is infuriating and perfect and almost too big for his face. “When.”

“If,” Zoro insists, even though if he never wins again, it won’t matter. As long as there’s air in Zoro’s lungs, as long as his heart still beats, as long as Luffy is always just a step ahead but always reaching back for him, he’ll keep on playing. He feels like maybe he could chase after Luffy forever.

“When,” Luffy retorts. “Just wait ‘til next time. I’m gonna kick your ass so bad--”

Zoro, exasperated and helplessly fond, kisses him quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> roronoa zoro is a Big Gay, oda told me himself.
> 
> title credits to troye sivan.
> 
> i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nevermordor) and [tumblr](https://nevermordor.tumblr.com) if you ever wanna come yell at me!


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